Less Than Zero
by Cradlerobber Speedo-kun
Summary: ...maybe for once the goody-two shoes won’t be the only ones who get to give their side to the story." - The way things were through Jay's eyes. (Rating subject to change) (Formerly entitled 'Less Than Known')
1. Begin

A/N: I am sorry to say, but I think this is going to be a disappointingly short first chapter. But I want to get it down so I can give myself a foothold, and once I'm done with finals (they occur next week), I'll be sure to finish this.

Less Than Known

By Cradlerobber Speedo-kun

GET OUT OF MY HEAD!

Or, so I'd say if someone was in my head, listening to all of this. I'm fucked up, but not fucked up enough to think someone can read my mind. I'm not some stupid shit. But I'll still tell this as if someone is listening (which I know isn't true at all), and if someone is listening, do just that. Don't even say anything to me. I don't give a f if you think I'm some friggin' weirdo. Like I said, I already know I'm fucked up.

But if someone is listening, maybe for once the goody-two shoes won't be the only ones who get to give their side to the story.


	2. Circles

A/N: Ok, I've given up on the abbreviations of a certain word. It's just too much of a pain to do the weird abbreviation method, since ff.net doesn't allow asterisks for some reason. Hmm... maybe I could start a campaign to get the asterisks back...  
  
Less Than Known  
  
By Cradlerobber Speedo-kun  
  
Another day at school. What a fucking joy.  
  
It's always the same fucking deal. Scowl in the hallways, get called to Mr. Raditch's office and get accused of doing some dumb shit, show up for maybe two classes a day... it's always the same fucking things over and over again. And people wonder why I don't like coming to this shit hole.  
  
Oh, wait, here's something for a change. Cameron's ex-girlfriend bitch is standing in front of me and Towerz and accusing us of stealing the old cassette tape player from the library. What the fuck? Why the hell would I steal something so worthless? I push past her, "Fuck off, bitch. I'm not a dumb ass who would steal a piece of shit like that." I thought she had gotten over that stupid shit of accusing me of stealing everything under the sun. Bitch.  
  
Towerz hasn't said anything at all today. But that's okay, 'cause he doesn't say a lot usually, anyway. If he does say something, then it must be important. I really wish there were more people like him. And he doesn't complain when I bitch at him about stuff.  
  
I have shop next, thank fucking god. Towerz went off to the woodshop because the fucking school administration is making him take that in addition to mechanics. They tried to make me take it, too, but I think they got the fucking message when I never showed up for one fucking class.  
  
I pass through the hallways, heading towards the garage. No one ever gets in my way, and I smirk at the way that so many of the dipshits cower in fear when I just walk by. I trip some underclassman just for kicks, and the dumb ass goes sprawling all over the floor, but says nothing. I snicker as I walk away. Have to make an example of someone every day just to make sure people don't forget who they're dealing with.  
  
I spy something that makes me fucking sick. Homochuk's hanging at his locker fucking flirting with some other friggin' queer. Damned fudge- packers. Just seeing them makes me sick. Homochuk and a queer spic (1). Shit, I hate homos.  
  
I slink into the garage scowling. Cameron's already over working on the engine of one of the cars. He probably actually went to most of his classes today. I wouldn't tolerate it from anyone else in my gang, but I let it slide with him. He's already fucking proven himself, and if he wants to attend class, it's his fucking decision. I think it's a dumb ass one, but I'm not gonna make a big fucking deal out of it.  
  
He can tell I'm pissed off, 'cause he says nothing. Just silently allows me to start messing with the windshield wipers. If I'm fucking around with the windshield wipers, it always means I'm fucking pissed off. I wouldn't touch any other part of a car when I'm pissed 'cause I know I'd break it out of frustration. In my opinion, cars deserve more respect than most people do, and I'm not gonna fuck up the engine just 'cause I'm irritated.  
  
When I finally start to touch other parts of the car, he speaks up, "So, we doin' anything after school?" I sort of scowl because it's a dumb question, "We always do." I can hear an underlying irritation in his voice, "I know that." I hit his hands away from the engine, 'cause I wanna take a look at it, "Well, I'm not doing anything. I'm going home 'cause I'm fucking tired. You dumb shits botched that job the other night and we had to hide under fucking trash cans. I'm still tired from that, ass hole."  
  
He's annoyed. I know he blames Lel (2) for the fact that whole thing got fucked up. But he's not gonna say anything about it. And for a moment it seems like he's not gonna say anything, but the he does, "Look, can I borrow your car? I know you don't let anyone touch it 'cause it's your fucking pride and joy, but I wanna go out with Alex (3) and suprise her with something nice for a change." It wasn't a question I was really expecting, but it wasn't a stupid one, so I'll at least answer it, "And you're hoping to get fucking lucky, huh? Jesus fucking Christ, Cameron, you're as transparent as beer."  
  
He ducks his head slightly. He fucking hates it when people see right through him, and I know it. His reply sounds like it's coming from a huffy five year old, "Well, yeah, so what? What the fuck is it to you?" He starts working on the engine again, shoving my hands away from it. I pull one of his hands up, though, and push a set of keys into his hand. He looks up at me, suprised. I smirk, "I'm feeling nice for a change. Have a nice fucking time." He knows what I said has a double meaning, but he mumbles a thanks anyway, shoving the keys into his pocket.  
  
I'm still smirking as we go back to work on the car. Who fucking knew I could be nice once in a while? Apparently Sean fucking Cameron didn't. And it's better that he didn't, 'cause he might get used to the idea. And I'm not the type to be fucking nice every fucking day.  
  
The bell rings and he bolts. Off for food and a fuck, no doubt. And I'm lacking a car now. What the fuck, I'll just find Towerz and walk home. Not like his car actually works, anyway.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
1) Jay doesn't know that Marco's Italian, hence the fact that he just  
called him a 'spic'. Spic is a horrible slang word for someone Hispanic, and I wouldn't use it if it weren't Jay speaking.  
  
3) Just a random guy from Jay's gang. None of those guys have names besides Towerz and Sean, so I just made one up.  
  
(3) Remember in 'This Charming Man' when Sean's making out with some random girl? Pretend it's Alex. In this story Jay pretty much gave Alex to Sean as a sort of trophy prize for joining the gang and proving his worth, and she went along with it because she preferred Sean to Jay anyway. 


	3. Roads

A/N: There's a possibility for a title change on this fic. I don't really have anything else to say, so just enjoy this chapter.  
  
Less Than Known  
  
By Cradlerobber Speedo-kun  
  
I didn't even say anything to Towerz. Just found him, grunted slightly, and then walked away. And he followed. Some people would say that he's my lapdog, but he sure as hell isn't. He's just a good friend. Friend. What a funny fucking comment in the universe of Jay Neeling.  
  
We moved down the sidewalk in silence. As predicted, his car is out of commission. He didn't even have to say so, I could just tell since he didn't try to lead me to it. So we wandered off in the direction of my house, and he came along even though he knew that I wasn't gonna invite him in, even though his house is on the other side of the fucking town.  
  
Towerz is probably the person I'm closest to. Not that I'd admit that to anyone out loud. People might think I'm a fucking fag if I ever said that. I like girls, obviously. They have nice curves, usually will listen to you bitch about stuff if they care about you in the slightest, and are obviously great for fucking. The idea of getting something jammed up my ass does not appeal to me in the least. If sex is a pain in the ass, you're just doing it wrong.  
  
We arrive at my house, and I turn to Towerz, "We're going to that keg party tomorrow." It's not a question, it's more of an order than anything else. Doesn't mean he has to go, just that I'd prefer he would. He nods very slightly and turns away, walking back the way we came without so much as a good-bye. He'll probably go to the party; lots of drunk people means lots of people who aren't gonna realize that you're picking their pocket, not groping them. He's the eldest of four, his father works graveyard shifts to try to feed them, and his mother is dead; he needs all the money he can get. The only reason he ever had a car was because he fixed it himself.  
  
I turn back towards the house and mount the cheery yellow front steps. The entire house is painted a cheery yellow. It annoys the fuck out of me sometimes. But I don't say anything to my father about it. It's better than where I was just a year ago.  
  
If people were to see my house, go inside and look around, they'd wonder why I'm so fucked up. They'd think I was just some middle class brat who rebelled out of fucking boredom. It's a nice little house, two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, a kitchen, dining room, and a TV room downstairs. In the basement there's the laundry room, and a half-bathroom. But I've only been here about a year. I left my mother the instant I realized that my father hadn't abandoned us afterall and was actually living in the area.  
  
When I was little, only about three or four years old, my mother and I ditched my father. At the time I thought he had left us, but I finally figured out that wasn't true last year. He was actually in the hospital. My mother found a guy she liked better, and so we left the house and moved in with her boyfriend. I don't know what happened to my father in all those intervening years, but at some point he moved to Degrassi, and when he realized that we were here, he came to find us. It was at about the same time as when I had finally pieced together the real story, and realized what a fucking bitch my mother was and what a fucking ass hole her boyfriend was. All they ever did was fuck and get drunk. One of them would have a job for a few weeks, but inevitably they'd get fired or they would quit.  
  
My father was probably horrified with me at first. I drank, I stole, I slept around, I smoked, and was altogether an unpleasant person. Still am, really, except that I quit smoking and having fucked anyone in about a month. My father was the only person who had ever made me feel bad about what I did. He didn't even have to try, it was just the looks on his face that got me. But old habits die hard.  
  
But, anyway, to make a long story short, my father offered to let me come live with him. I hated getting smacked around by both my mother and her boyfriend (at least with her boyfriend I started to hit back), was tired of hearing their constant moaning while they fucked on the couch, and didn't like that I was hungry a lot even when I did manage to steal food. So I went with him.  
  
And found out another reason for why my mother left him. My father's house was not occupied solely by him, but by he and his boyfriend. My mother didn't leave him because he had a boyfriend, though; she just could tell that he wasn't as straight as she had thought when she first married him. They had married because she was pregnant, and my father didn't want to disgrace anyone and also wanted to make sure that she and I didn't end up on the streets. The only reason I know any of this is because I've wanted to know the whole story, and so I've gone through these boxes in the basement when no one else is home. And one of them was full of letters. And it told the entire story.  
  
So my father's a fucking fag. I reacted badly, of course, but I've gotten used to it. Except that my father's boyfriend wants me to think of him as a "step-dad". What the fuck? If I already have a father, I don't need a fucking step-father. I don't mind him, I've gotten over them being queers and together, but I'm never gonna call him "step-dad".  
  
No one's home. They both have jobs after all. I'm sure it'll give them a heart-attack to walk in and find that I'm home. I never get home before they do. I get home a lot earlier than I would when I lived with my mother and her bastard boyfriend, but that's no suprise. Whenever I used to walk in, they'd be going at it on the couch, sometimes even with some random third person they'd gotten off the streets. No wonder I did my best to not come home. Either that, or they'd be drunk and they'd both start beating on me. When I was about 13 years old I finally started fighting back against the fucking bastard, but even though I hated my mother I couldn't bring myself to actually hit the bitch.  
  
Towerz is the only one who knows about my family situation. I'm not letting anyone else know that I live with my faggy father and his boyfriend. Towerz never mentions it, 'cause he knows that I'm embarrassed by it. He also knows that's why I never invite him to come over to my house or anything like that. I can handle that my father's fucking another man, and I can handle that Towerz knows this, but I don't want him to meet my father and his boyfriend.  
  
I make my way upstairs, and into my room. I haven't had my own room since my mother left my father. I lie down on the bed and kick my shoes off. One of them rolls under the fucking bed somehow, but I don't move to retrieve it. I'm gonna take a nap. A damnably long nap. And no fucking shoe is gonna keep me from it. 


	4. Spades

A/N: To be perfectly honest, I'm not quite sure where this is going any more. Well, I do have planned out this chapter and the next, but I don't know what'll happen after that. I was gonna end it with the next chapter, but now I'm not so sure I will. The title is subject to change at the moment, too, because 'Less Than Know' is sort of a stupid title if you ask me.  
  
On another note, please let me know if I'm using the 'f' word too much. The guys I hang out with aren't exactly Jay-types, so I'm not sure if I'm overusing the word or not.  
  
Less Than Known  
  
By Cradlerobber Speedo-kun  
  
I had already had too much to drink. At least I could think that without needing to stop what I was doing and just think. I could hear myself giggling, and realized I sounded like a fucking valley girl at the moment. I scowled and stopped drinking, dropping my beer on the white floor below me. Someone then offered me some cheap scotch, and I eagerly grabbed at it. Beer's too fucking weak anyway.  
  
A girl passed by and I tripped her. I had been flirting with her earlier, but she had called me a lush and shoved me away. Stupid bitch. She was completely smashed now, and lay on the floor cackling like a hyena. Oh, yeah, I'm such a lush and you aren't...  
  
I couldn't find Towerz. How could he have vanished so easily? It wasn't a big crowd... I turned around, my head hurting and feeling fucking confused. He was probably feeling someone up somewhere...  
  
It hadn't been hard getting out of my house. I just told them it was a birthday party, and the queer couple let me leave. Something about me acting more responsible lately. What the fuck? I didn't think so, but didn't say anything to them. And all this stuff to drink and girls to grope and fuck? A reward for my failing to talk back for once.  
  
But my drink was already gone. Fuck Towerz, he can find himself. I'll find more to drink.  
  
I turn to stumble back to the kitchen, but Homochuk's right there. What the fuck? Why is he here? What's this fag doing here? I don't know. Wonder if he's drunk. I think I'm drunk. I like being drunk. The floor sways pleasantly, and I wonder if this is what riding on a boat is like. Boat, rock, water, sway, little canoe bouncing in the water...  
  
I trip into him and scowl at him, pushing him away. Fucking queer, I don't want him touching me, "What the fuck are you doing here, Homochuk? Don't you have some fellow fag somewhere to be fucking, or is your bed- buddy already booked for tonight?" He doesn't say anything, and I don't know why. I just insulted him, why isn't the bastard replying? "Hey, didn't you hear me, you queer bastard? I said something to you!" Still no response... can't he hear me? I hate being ignored. I take a swing at his head with my fist, but something stops it. I don't know what, but I can't manage to bring my fist back to me. I can't move it, I can't hit him.  
  
So I try with my other hand, but the same thing happens. (1) What the fuck? My head feels so heavy... and I slump forward, burying my face in his chest in the process. But I feel too sick to move. "Sick..." Even to me I sound whiny, but my head's too heavy, and my hands won't move, and I feel like I'm gonna fucking barf all over the place, and all I can do is remain slumped against Homochuk, who still hasn't said anything. (2)  
  
Everything's too loud. But I'm moving now. I don't know how. Wait, Homochuk's here. And now we're in the bathroom. No... I'm not gay like you, get away and let me be sick alone... But he lifts the lid of the toilet and forces me in front of it.  
  
It's amazing how fast my stomach is completely empty. Acid burns my throat, and the stench is enough to make me heave again. But there's nothing left to get rid of, so I just give dry heaves that hurt like hell. I don't feel sick any more, but every inch of me hurts, and the smell makes me want to fucking lie down and die.  
  
I'm being guided somewhere else again. I think the toilet just flushed. I pass through the crowded living room, everything a mess of blurry colors, and outside into the chilly air. Fucking party. I'm fucking sick like a fucking junior high kid whose only taste of alcohol is watered down communion wine.  
  
I'm shoved in a car, and I start to yell at whoever it was, but just getting out one syllable makes my head feel like it's being crushed by a rock. I put my head down on the seat, smelling the newness still in the fabric, and all the noise and images just fade into a grey mess. The car lurches forward, and I'm completely gone.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
In case it isn't obvious, Dylan caught both of Jay's fists because Jay's really too drunk to aim very well or put up much of a struggle.  
  
(2) Dylan's been talking since Jay collapsed against him, but Jay can't make out individual noises because he's way too smashed (gee, really?) at this point.

(3) This chapter is a little too short in my opinion. Sorry it's not longer. .;


	5. Doorknobs

A/N: Expect this to be another short chapter. I don't know why, it just will be. I guess it's because I'm more of a short story writer than anything else, altho I have written novellas before... Yeah, as if you really needed to hear that pointless semi-rant. Except I didn't really rant...  
  
Also, this fanfic will have a title change next chapter. I've decided I'd rather have the title be Less Than Zero, because Less Than Known is really a terrible title.  
  
Less Than Zero  
  
By Cradlerobber Speedo-kun  
  
Somewhere there's a light on, and it's shining through my eyelids, making me realize I had the biggest fucking headache. I pull the covers up over my head to block the painful light, and remember what happened last night. Or, remember as much as I can. There seems to be some stuff missing, but I don't really care. Everything has a price, and I'm willing to deal with these after affects.  
  
But how did I get home? I sit up, just to make sure this is my home and I didn't end up in bed with someone. Yeah, it's my room. Same fucking boring walls as always, and the door handle is still ready to fall off. In fact, it's jiggling, so my father is probably about to walk in. How fucking wonderful. I really don't need a talk about abusing alcohol when I have a hangover.  
  
He walks in, "Good morning, Jay. I take it you're probably not feeling very well, huh?" No shit Sherlock, but I don't voice that opinion, "Uh, yeah. Headache. Light hurts. Y'know..." I always feel weird talking to my father. Even after living with him for a year I still feel sort of like I'm talking to a therapist or something as opposed to my father. Probably because I lived about ten years without him...  
  
He sits down on the edge of my head, handing me a glass of water I hadn't noticed was on the headboard, along with two aspirins. I gulp it down eagerly, suprised he hasn't started in on me yet. He's the only person who can ever make me feel guilty. I hate that.  
  
His eyes are on me as I put the glass back, and he finally says something, "A friend of yours drove you home. He said that someone must've done something to the drinks because everyone was getting sick at the party. You were pretty much passed out when he brought you here." I don't know if he believes the whole thing about spiked drinks or not, but it doesn't seem to matter much. Even if it is a fucking transparent lie.  
  
"Who drove me home?" Last thing I remember of last night was Homochuk helping me to the bathroom 'cause I was sick. And me grabbing onto him when I started to keel over...  
  
"Oh, he said his name was Dylan. He seems like a nice boy; he helped me get you up the stairs because Eli (1) was out." Eli's my father's boyfriend. And my father isn't supposed to carry heavy things around because he's had knee surgery more than once; the first time he had it was when my bitch ex-mother left him.  
  
I nod sort of, hating the fact that Homochuk might know my home situation now. Or at least part of it. Probably thinks I'm a fucking spoiled brat now. If he had seen where I used to be, I'd make sense. Otherwise, I just seem like some fucking bored spoiled kid. Stupid fucking Homochuk. Why do I even care what the fuck he thinks?  
  
Wait. Could my father tell that he's gay? Can a queer tell if some other guy is a fag, too? A glance up at my father, trying to tell if he's not telling me everything. But he just looks like he's concerned for my well-being. I shrug sort of, "He's not exactly a friend of mine... I don't why he would drive me home." My father gets up to leave, "Well, he did drive you home, so you could at least thank him. I have to go out to the grocery store, I'll be back in a few hours. Eli's locked himself in the study to finish some essays he was supposed to submit three days ago. I'm assuming you're going to sleep more, but I'll just check in on you when I get back."  
  
I nod again, "Ok." He smiles at me slightly, closing the door behind him. He's okay. And so is Eli. I shouldn't put down fags as much as I do. It's just a bad habit I got from my ex-mother. Why would I want to keep a habit from a bitch like her? But I'll probably still end up calling them queers and fags and homos. Habits are fucking hard to get rid of, especially when I still despise the resident queer of Degrassi Community High.  
  
Homochuk. Why'd he drive me home? I roll over. He was being nice even though I'm a bastard to him. Probably felt sorry for me... what an ass. Me, not him. Acted like a kid at a wedding with an open bar. Got fucking smashed and then hurled all over the place. He better not let anyone know.  
  
He was the one who shoved me in the car I guess. I remember it a little better now. He shoved me in the car and I buried my face in the upholstery. He buckled me in, and I wouldn't sit up straight. I passed out after that. No... wait, I didn't. Or I did. And I woke up before we got to my house. Yeah, I told him how to get there after he woke me up. And so I passed out again.  
  
But I did something before that. No. No. No, fucking no.  
  
There's one thing I can't friggin' stand about drinking. The stupid things you do, and the forget, only to remember them because you're trying to hard to remember what you did.  
  
I put my head on his shoulder and asked him what the hell he sees in the spic (2).  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
(1) Eli, as in pronounced "Ee-lye" , not "El-ee". I have faith in my readers' ability to figure that out without a note about it, but I thought I should include it just in case.  
  
(2) Jay called Marco this earlier in the story because he thought Marco was Hispanic. He still thinks so, and still refers to him by rude slang. 


	6. Lockers

A/N: Look! I'm updating this finally! Haha, finally as in "haven't updated for about four days". ;D Love you guys, you're so awesome.   
  
Less Than Zero  
  
By Cradlerobber Speedo-kun  
  
The next day was Sunday, and then it was Monday again. I had spent Saturday lying around the house feeling hungover and sorry for myself. I had also spent it doing my best to erase any memories I had of Friday night's drinking party. And hoping no one had seen anything I did while I was there. Or that I had left with Dylan. (1)  
  
On Sunday Towerz and I had worked on his car. He didn't mention having seen me fall all over Homochuk and get sick, so I assumed he hadn't seen. Towerz was good about avoiding stuff I didn't wanna talk about, but he still would've brought that up if he had seen it. He only mentioned not seeing me very much after getting there.  
  
It was already lunch, and no one had said anything to me about the party. So no one saw, and I'm safe. Or if they did, they forgot because they were too friggin' smashed. Thank fucking god.  
  
But there's someone I know can't have forgotten. And I can see him across the lunchroom, laughing with that spic again. I don't even know why I'm in the lunchroom, usually I'd just ditch with Towerz and Cameron, and maybe we'd even bring Lel along. But Cameron and Lel are nowhere to be found, and Towerz followed me when I walked in here, and although he said nothing I know he definitely is wondering why the hell we're in this shithole right now.  
  
"You're not eating." He observes dully. No shit, sherlock. I scowl, "I'm not hungry. If you're so interested in the fact that I still have a full plate of this crap, then you can have it." I roughly shove the tray across the table to him, and when he silently takes it and begins to eat it, I frown even more deeply. Sometimes it is a little annoying that Towerz almost never responds to anyone's attempts at antagonizing (2) him.  
  
We skip gym after lunch, just sitting around in the parking lot and not doing much. Usually I'd let the air out of Raditch's tires just to spite him, but neither of us seems like we're gonna move at all. So we sit in silence, and I can't help but wonder what goes on inside Towerz's head. I've never been able to understand him completely, even though I've known him almost my whole life. But at least I can tell that he's not just some fucking delinquent, unlike the rest of the school. They think he is, but they don't even know him. Everyone always judges by the rumors they've heard and the way a person looks. It pisses me off.  
  
I have my head on my knees, and I'm staring at the pavement and wondering why the asphalt can sparkle so brightly and cheerfully when so much of the rest of the world seems so friggin' gloomy and depressing. But then the bell rings, and I actually go to class, and Towerz disappears off to wherever he has to be. He didn't even offer a "see you later", but, then again, neither did I. I spend my class sulking about life in general, and the teacher seems so shocked to see me that she doesn't even call on me at all during class or say anything at all in my general direction.  
  
On my way to the garage for period seven, I pass by Homochuk's locker. The spic is there, no suprise. I scowl. He's been there every time I've gone by today, and has been with Homochuk every time I've seen Homochuk today. What is he, Homochuk's dog? Jesus fucking christ, it's enough to make a person sick.  
  
I'm late getting to the garage, and Cameron's already working on the car. I put the car on a winch without even asking, and have buried myself in the undercarriage of the car before he can even say hello. If he reacts, I can't see it. All I can see is the dim parts of the car's undercarriage. I can't focus, so I pretend to work on the car, but really am not. I'm just picking up tools and dropping them to make it seem like I'm doing something other than staring off into space and thinking too much.  
  
When the bell finally rings after what seems like an age, I leave, having not said a thing to Cameron the entire class. And I silently thank god that he isn't Lel, because Lel would be chattering next to me at this point, trying to figure out what was wrong. And then I'd have to punch him to get him to shut up, and doubtless Rad-bitch would materialize out of some corner and give me a fucking detention. Yeah, just what I need.  
  
I do my best not to run into anyone, and it works. I don't see Lel or Towerz, and they don't come looking for me. Maybe Lel tried, but Towerz probably stopped him. Towerz would be able to tell that if he couldn't find me at my locker right off the bat, then I don't want to be found. So he would go home, and Cameron would realize from the way I was acting in class that I don't want to deal with anyone, so he would go off with whatever girlfriend he has this week. And Lel would either get told to go home or would become quickly bored with looking for me, since he has the attention span of a dead armadillo. And then I find myself left alone and am glad that people know I want some space.  
  
And then I would walk past Homochuk's locker for what must be the 54th fucking time today, and he would be there alone for once, and I would just stop walking and stare because I have just gone brain dead. Except that part really isn't supposed to happen. I'm supposed to be gone off drinking by now, but I'm staring at Dylan instead. And he obviously notices this, because there is no one left in the hallway, and there's also a chance that there's no one left in the school.  
  
And now he's standing right here next to me, and I'm backed against the lockers and can barely breathe, and I don't even know why. His hand is on the wall behind me, and he's frowning, "Is there a reason you've been stalking me this entire day? You've gone by my locker at least ten times, and you stare every time. You ate in the lunchroom, staring at me. Everywhere I go, you're staring at me. But you haven't said anything. No "Homochuk", no "queer", no "fag", no "homo", not even a "thank you for driving me home and lying to my father because I was smashed, and thank you for not telling everyone that me, a psychotic homophobe, has a gay father." --- not that I was remotely expecting you to say the last one. But no nothing from you except for stare, stare, stare, all day long."  
  
I can feel his breath on me, and I want to run, want to yell, 'Get away from me, fag!', but I can't say anything, can barely breathe, and most certainly cannot move. I could scowl and call him Homochuk, and punch him and tell him to get off of me, but I don't. I just stand there against the lockers with Dylan just five inches from me.  
  
"Why?" He murmurs, and he's closer to me. Really close. Really, really fucking close. And then there's no room at all. He's kissing me. Kissing. Dylan is fucking kissing me, and I haven't breathed in what seems like hours. And then my eyes close, and I'm kissing him back, and I don't know why the hell I'm doing this, or even how this happened.  
  
He finally breaks away, and takes a step back. My knees give out and I'm on the floor, staring up at him and still wordless. He shakes his head slightly, "I'm sorry, Neeling, but I can't give you what you want. I can't even really help you. Only you can." (3)  
  
And then he's gone, and I'm still here on the floor, now gasping for the breath I hadn't had in a while and wondering what the fuck just happened.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(1) Notice that he slipped up and didn't call him Homochuk for once? Keep an eye on that.

(2) I can't really see Jay using this word, but I couldn't really think of another way to put it. Or maybe he would use this word, and we just don't expect him to.

(3) To some of you, sorry, I know you didn't want this to happen, but this is slash. It was intended that way all along, and although you aren't exactly wanting it to be, I hope you can still continue to read and enjoy this.


	7. Walk

A/N: I have returned! --;;; I went on a little hiatus to write original short stories as opposed to fanfics, what can I say? Would simply adore it if any of you took a look over the stuff I have on fictionpress.net (hint, wink, nudge).  
  
Anyway, Jay is a hard person for me to write in the point of view of. Just thought I'd let you know, and also apologize if I get OOC. I think I may've mentioned this before, but I thought I'd mention it again as I get a little more into the slash in this fic.  
  
I adore you all for your reviews. You guys are wonderful.  
  
Less Than Zero  
  
By Cradlerobber Speedo-kun  
  
When I finally was able to stand, I found Cameron right away, and dragged him off to go drinking with me. He had been sulking in the parking lot because he had had an argument with Alex or some crap like that. I didn't even give him a chance to respond, just sort of shoved him in my car, told him what we were doing, and drove off.  
  
Drown away the memory in the endless depths of alcohol. Woke up the next morning at home, and my father said something about a friend of mine bringing me home and saying I had gotten sick. The second lame-ass excuse in a space of four days. Great. But my father said nothing. Only that he seemed to be meeting a lot of my friends lately. Sorry, daddy dearest, but fairy-boy Dylan is not my friend.  
  
Cameron was currently staring at me across the lunch table for some reason. Towerz was off with his girlfriend, some grade nine kid, teaching her about cars. What the fuck? Whatever. But this left me with Cameron, who still wasn't talking to Alex, and sitting in the dingy lunchroom wondering what the hell the thing in front of me was. And the fact that Cameron was giving me these really weird stares.  
  
"Why the fuck are you staring at me like that?" I finally sneered, scowling at him. He ducked his head, and poked nervously at his food with a spork, "Uhh, nothing..." I frowned. Well, I'm not stupid, and it obviously was something. "Cameron, you obviously have a reason for it, so you better tell me." He looked up, but avoided my eyes. He coughed, and shifted, acting all the more suspicious. I was about ready to grab him and drag him over the top of the table to force the answer out of him when he finally spoke again, "You're not gonna like it. I shouldn't say it in here."  
  
I glared at him. I scowled. I could hear Dylan laughing somewhere in the background. Ok, definitely need to get out of here. "Fine." I said it like it annoyed me that he wouldn't tell me otherwise, but it gave me a real reason to leave. I tossed away my lunch, whatever the hell it was, and walked out, knowing that Cameron would follow me. It was raining out, but I went outside anyway, knowing no one else would be there. If Cameron was so hell-bent on not having people overhear, then that was gonna be what he got, and screw him if he didn't like getting wet.  
  
I turned around, water already sliding off the ends of my hair, "Well?" He avoided my gaze still, "Well... yesterday, when we were drinking, you got really fucking smashed, and some of the stuff you said..." He broke off, biting his lip and looking like an embarrassed 6th grader. "Cameron." I practically growled. I was moments away from slamming him into the wall and forcing him to tell me what the hell he was talking about.  
  
"Ok, you said that Paige's brother had kissed you, and you liked it, and that you shouldn't've, but you did, and how he brought you home from the party when you got sick, and that you don't know why this is all happening, and that you don't like how Marco is always around him, and, uhh, yeah... that's pretty much it."  
  
I stared. It had all come pouring out of him in a furious jumble of words, and I cursed myself for drinking and having loose lips. Cursed myself that I hadn't brought Towerz instead of Cameron. Sure, I don't want Towerz to know all that, but I'd much rather him know it than Cameron. Cameron, Cameron, Cameron. Stupid fucking Cameron.  
  
I could barely breathe again. A five year old could probably take me down at the moment. I wouldn't even try to stop them. Next time I have anything to drink, I'm duct taping my mouth shut.  
  
"Are... you...uhh, well... y'know, um... gay?" He said it, breaking my internal stream of thoughts. I glare, "No. That was the alcohol, don't be a dumb ass. You know it was, so why're you even asking? I've been with Alex. I'm not some fucking fag." He doesn't look very convinced, "Ye-ah... but, you didn't exactly fight for her. You just sorta gave her to me..."  
  
I shove past him, leaving. I'm really pissed off, this godammed Cameron thinking he can just ask anything he feels like. Thinks he's entitled to know very fucking detail of my life. Thinks he knows me. Thinks I'm gay. If I ever said I liked that kiss, it was because I had too much drink. I didn't know what I was saying. It was just the rambling of a drunk.  
  
"Jay!" His voice calls weakly after me, "JAY!"  
  
Oh, just shut the fuck up. I'm going home. 


	8. Fences

A/N: Not much in the way of notes for this chapter, really. Mostly just notes to reviewers, something I've never done in any of my fanfic before. Shocker.  
  
keeponwritin - You have no idea how flattered I am at the fact that you say I might be your inspiration for continuing on writing 'Within My Grasp'. I personally am of the opinion that your fic is WAY better than mine, so this just flatters me to pieces. As for my note on Jay using the word 'antagonized', I'm sure he'd know what it meant, but I don't think he'd be likely to use it.  
  
orange crush3 - Why was he using a spork? Not a typo, not checking to make sure you're awake... I just find that sporks tend to be found in most lunchrooms that are attached to schools. I know most of America uses them, at least some of England does, at least a little bit of Mexico, at least one place in Wales, so I'm assuming that they can be found in Canada. But I could be wrong about that.  
  
Less Than Zero  
  
By Cradlerobber Speedo-kun  
  
My father wasn't home, and neither was Eli. They had left a note on the table, a note that was obviously intended for me to have found at around 3 o'clock, after school, not 11:45 when I was supposed to be in school. I stormed through the house, slamming doors and making all the plates in the kitchen jump with every step I made. Cameron pissed me off. How dare he make an accusation like that? I'm not a fucking fag.  
  
I went out into the backyard, and kicked some rocks against the fence. I briefly considered climbing over the fence and going off into the feeble set of woods behind it. It's only something like thirty feet wide, and when the block I live on ends, so does it. The last of some great Canadian forest that used to exist before Toronto was built. Stupid fucking Western civilization. I wish I had been born Chinese or something. Then I wouldn't be dealing with bastards like Cameron and Homochuk at the moment.  
  
I settled down on the edge of the porch. Both the front and back of the house has a porch, but we never use them. Well, now I am. The fences in this yard are weird. It's wood on both sides, but then the back fence is chain link. Eli wants to replace it because he thinks it looks ugly. Gee, I thought it added to the charm... (1)  
  
I can't sit still. I wander around the yard, kicking at rocks and the ground. I hate Cameron. I sort of wish Towerz was here so I could complain to him about Cameron, but he's off with his girlfriend, and I don't want him to know that Cameron thinks I'm gay, anyway. Stupid fucking Cameron will probably mention it to Alex, though... once they stop arguing. Which will doubtless occur soon enough.  
  
The woods seem lonely. Sort of sad too, somehow. Like they're sad because they're the only part left. All alone in the middle of all this concrete, steel, and glass. I blink suddenly, and frown. Must be going crazy or something. Jesus, the woods are sad? What the hell is wrong with me?  
  
Someone clears their throat and I turn around. Cameron. What's he doing here? Shouldn't he be off at school actually putting in an effort to pass? Dammit, how is it that he knows where I live, anyway? Oh, yeah, he brought me home the other day. Guess I must've told him where it was while I was smashed...  
  
"Uh... hi." He says lamely, and I glare. I want him gone, now. I sneer at him, "Don't you have a class to be in? Get lost, Cameron. I don't wanna see your face around here." But he doesn't move. He just gets closer, until he's next to me, leaning in the corner of the yard where the chain link meets the wood. He never takes his eyes off of me. Since when did he become so bold? He has never been meek, really, but he's never acted so bold to me. He's always followed what I said since he joined my gang. When I first met him he and I were in a fight, so, yeah, he wasn't being meek at all. But ever after that he's followed along.  
  
He scratches at the dirt with his toe, his gaze falling. He looks years younger than he really is somehow, his audacity to come into my yard and not to listen to me when I told him to leave falling away. But he still asks the question he asked before, the one that made me leave. His voice is sort of soft, "Jay. I just want to know. I don't care if you are, but I just want to know anyway. Are you... well, gay...? I know you don't wanna answer, but I'm not gonna leave until you at least say yes or no." His tone hardens at the end of his statement, and he looks up, looking me in the eye again. He's pissing me off again. Second time today. Except that I hadn't stop being pissed at him for the first time.  
  
Silence. Me glaring at him, him just looking at me. Silence, silence, silence. Maybe five minutes, maybe ten. Silence somehow makes it hard to tell how much time has passed. When there's no noise time either slides by slowly, or zips by quickly. It never goes just that way it's supposed to.  
  
He really isn't going to leave until he gets an answer. That much is obvious by now, no matter how much time has passed. I take a step closer, and find myself standing right in front of him, his back to the chain link fence. I slam my hands against the fence on either side of him, and we're practically touching. I lean into his face, and start yelling, "OK! How about this? I'm gay! Alright, happy now? I'm gay, and right now I've got you pinned to a fence. Oh, so you don't care if I'm gay? Do you now?" I've pressed him to the fence with my body, I'm leering, and yelling, and I'm so angry I could break his neck if I really wanted to, "Still don't care, Cameron? Still gonna stick around and deal with it? Still..." (2)  
  
I push off the fence really fast, and spin around, the words dying in my mouth. That did not just happen. Please. I'm just having some sort of horrible nightmare of a day, maybe even this whole week. I didn't just get a hard-on from Cameron. (3)  
  
I just want to crawl under the porch and not come out, but instead I just sort of cover my eyes with my hand, and sigh, "Just... go away, Sean... please..." My anger is all gone, evaporated the moment I realized what was happening. He doesn't say anything, but I know he's left. His foot steps, muffled by the grass, fade away, and the gate creaks on rusted hinges.  
  
He's gone. Thank you.  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
(1) Meant to be sarcastic.  
  
(2) Ugh, the way I had this pictured was WAY better than I was able to write it...  
  
(3) Just for the record, he's not attracted to Sean in any way, shape, or form. It was just a natural reaction to being so close to a guy is all. I'm more a SeanxEllie fan than any other Sean pairing, sorry. =P (Although, Cameroncest isn't something I'm against... eheheheheh....) 


	9. Rooms

A/N: This'll be the last chapter you guys are gonna get for at least a week and a half. I'm going away on vacation (yippee!), and will only have sporadic access to a computer that is not to be used for very long amounts of time. Yes, rather sad, I know. The computer is also public property that is not allowed to have diskettes placed in it for fear of being contaminated with a virus. This renders the damn thing almost completely useless. And even if I could use it, I probably wouldn't because I get paranoid that someone is peeking over my shoulder.  
  
Onwards!  
  
Less Than Zero  
  
By Cradlerobber Speedo-kun  
  
I was lying face down on my bed Sunday morning. I hadn't gone to school since I had ditched the previous week, and hadn't left the house since the same day. I hadn't even gone downstairs since Friday. My father had stayed home from work on Friday when it became apparent that I had no intention of moving anywhere outside of the second floor, and that I was not ill, just severely unmotivated and unwilling to move.  
  
No one had called, no one had come to see where I was, nothing. Not that I had really expected anyone to give a fuck if I wasn't there. Or, at least, not enough to actually check in on me. Begrudgingly, though, I resented that Towerz hadn't come. He knew where I lived, and I hadn't been angry at him. Cameron could stay as far away as he wanted, that was fine with me, and Lel had no idea where I lived and I wanted to keep it that way. Alex had no right or reason to come.  
  
Dylan knows where I live.  
  
I groaned and rolled over onto my side, noticing the weak sunlight attempting to strain through the closed blinds. My room was a dull, glowy sort of yellow because just enough light was making it's way into the room. I hated it and wanted it to turn pitch black. But I don't feel like moving even as much as to close the shades completely.  
  
When I first entered self-imposed exile, I had wondered if Cameron had told anyone. Then I got past stupid thoughts and actually managed to kill off the majority of my thinking processes beyond the need to eat, use the bathroom, and shower. Probably the only thing that kept my father from trying to drag me off to see a fucking shrink was that I did eat and did shower. I was hungry. Why wouldn't I eat? I liked showers. Why wouldn't I shower?  
  
I like showers. Not past-tense. Present. Now. Still do. Lack of hot- water when I was younger made me despise taking showers, since it meant I had to stand under the icy water in December when it was snowing. Sometimes the water would get cut out and I wouldn't even be able to take one. So moving to my father's house made me enjoy taking showers, because there was hot water and it was always there. And I always felt good afterwards, too. Still do, even considering that I probably will never be able to walk into Degrassi High ever again.  
  
I'm back to thinking beyond necessity. Monday is tomorrow. I'll be forced to go to school. No question about that. I could always run off and go to Toronto. Try living there. Just disappear into the city. A bitter laugh leaves my throat. Yeah, sure. I'll run off to Toronto. No one'll notice me there, sure. I'm only a guy who looks like a delinquent and American-gangsta wanna-be. (1) No one will call the police and say something.  
  
Sarcastic self defeat. As usual.  
  
A knock on the door. I look over at it, "Who is it?" There's no answer, which is a bit weird. Eli and my father wouldn't just knock and then not say anything. The only person I know who might do that would be... Towerz. But why would Towerz be in my house? Even in all my resenting the fact that he never came over while I wasn't in school, I never expected him to show up, ever. I always made it pretty clear I didn't want him coming in my house.  
  
Whatever. "Come in." The door creaks open, and Towerz lumbers into the room. He glances around before looking back at the door, and I know he's just asking if he should leave it open or not. I nod, and he shuts it, and the room becomes dimmer again, the light of the sunny hallway shut out. He grabs a chair from by the window and sits down, ignoring the mess that is currently my bedroom. Hmm, Towerz in my bedroom. Nice innuendo there.  
  
I sit up. I'm only wearing boxers and a t-shirt, and with anyone else in the room I'd feel under-dressed, but I've known Towerz forever so it makes no difference to me. I study him, and know he probably knows just by the way he's looking at me. It's not a disapproving look, just a knowing one. "You know?" He knows what I'm talking about, and his answer is almost immediate, "Yeah. Cameron told me."  
  
"So, lemme guess... Lel overheard you and freaked and told Alex, who flipped and told Amy in the girls' bathroom, where some gossip-bitch overhead and announced it on the afternoon announcements, right?"  
  
He's looking at me carefully, "No. He only told me."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I had already guessed."  
  
I blink, and am dismayed that I probably look shocked. Even Towerz never sees me shocked or suprised. It just is better for no one to see me suprised. I'm not supposed to be suprised by things. How did he know? Do I give off some sort of homo vibe that even I'm not aware of? And if so, does this mean both my father and Eli know? Is that why Dylan did that to me?  
  
"How did you know?" I say dully, picking at the sheets of my bed. He gives an almost invisible shrug, "I just did." Now I'm feeling paranoid. Thanks Towerz, thanks a fucking lot.  
  
"Do I give off some sort of messed up queer vibe?"  
  
If he's suprised at me questioning him (something I don't really do), he doesn't show it, "I don't think so. Cameron was shocked. I just know you is all."  
  
'I just know you is all.' I let my eyelids fall shut, and lean back against the headboard of my bed. 'I just know you.' I guess so. 'Know you.'  
  
I open my eyes again. Towerz is still there. "You don't care?"  
  
"No. Neither does Cameron."  
  
"What did he tell you?"  
  
"More after I got him drunk."  
  
Guess he wanted to know the whole story. I raise an eyebrow at him, "I didn't know you would do that sort of thing."  
  
"He knew more than he was saying. He said you were gay, had found out after confronting you. I got him drunk, and he said you were kissed by Michaelchuk, and got a hard-on from him, from Cameron."  
  
So, he knows everything, because Cameron knows everything. And he also just said more than I've heard him say at once in about a year.  
  
He stays a little longer, but not very much. After he leaves, I wonder if maybe I should talk to my father. To figure out if he knows anything about any of this. Or, more if he suspects anything. If Dylan did... he might. Both of them are gay. Only straight person who did was Towerz. Knew before I did, maybe. It wouldn't suprise me. He wouldn't say anything to me, though.  
  
Towerz.  
  
'I just know you is all.'  
  
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -  
  
(1) This is based upon what has been the reaction of some Canadian people I know to the episode 'Gangsta, Gangsta'. They basically implied that it really was an episode that didn't fit in, because in places like Degrassi the whole 'gangsta' thing is just some American junk that some people copy because they want to be cool. Sorry if it is inaccurate. 


	10. Lots

A/N: Sorry for the long hiatus between this chapter and the last. I got a seven day ban from due to my author note that was unattached to any chapter, and had a bicycle accident before that that prevented me from typing. My elbow is still messed up, so excuse any typos that slip through my attention. And to all my reviewers: I love you to death. I'd give you all individual responses, except that I don't have an online computer in front of me, so I can't look at the specific reviews. ;;

Less Than Zero

By Cradlerobber Speedo-kun

The fact that I was in a geometry class Monday morning was just for convenience. I still didn't feel like dealing with anyone, but my father had threatened to drag me to see a shrink if I remained in my room any more. And I went to class because then I wouldn't have to see anyone. I don't know anyone in my classes, really, and they are all afraid of me, so I can sleep through every class and it won't matter. No one'll bother me.

The teacher draws triangles on the board. She wants the angle measurements. I hate triangles (1).

I manage to get through an English class, Media Immersion, and then chemistry. I don't think I've been to chemistry all year. Wonder if they have any acids in the labs. I can pour it down my throat and forget the last week. But Jay Neeling is not suicidal. We can leave that up to Ellie Nash, 10th grade mistress of darkness (2).

I stop at my locker to drop off a book one of the teachers somehow managed to off-load on me. It's only the second one in there now. Unless you count the 20 years of Playboy book in there, but somehow I doubt it counts. It'll probably be gone soon enough, anyway.

Dylan passes by, and I catch a glimpse of him before my books suddenly crash out of my locker onto the grimy, tiled floor. Fucking figures. I can't help but feel like I'm one of those air-headed girls from one of those teenage soap operas Alex used to love. Alex. I used to watch them with her, even though I hated them. Miles from that now.

I shove the battered books back into the small space of my locker, and look down the hall where Dylan has almost disappeared. This sucks. This friggin' sucks. He's fucking cute.

"You like him." The statement interrupts my thoughts, thank god, and I don't even have to look to know it's Towerz. I don't have to answer either. It wasn't a question; it was a statement. One that was… unnecessary. I look back down the hall, before looking at Towerz. I sweep an eye over him. Maybe I should just deal and start hitting on Towerz. Would make more sense than staring after Homochuk.

Hm, anyone seen my sanity? Seems I lost it.

I shake my head, but before I can manage to slink away with Towerz following, Lel bursts out of nowhere. I can't stand Lel, but I can't get rid of him. I've tried, but the bastard keeps coming back. Originally he had been ok, obviously since he wouldn't've been in my gang otherwise, but then he just suddenly became annoying. Really, really fucking annoying. But I guess every group out there has someone who is annoying and extremely slow… and he serves a purpose when I need to scream at someone.

"Hey! You're feeling better, Jay!" He grins maniacally, and I feel the urge to smash his face into a water fountain. I mentally bury my hands in my face. I can already feel a headache coming on, "Yes, now fuck off."

"But, I have good news. In addition to you being back, of course."

"I don't care. Go away or I'm going to smash your face into a urinal."

"Oh, haven't you been getting enough sleep? Not that you look tired, you just sound cranky. I mean, no, you sound a little tired is all. I bet it's because you actually went to class today. I was so suprised when I saw you sitting in Mr. Telnets class!"

"Lel, shut the fuck up." Now Cameron's here. Great, what is this, a party? Now Alex and Amy are sure to appear. I don't need to see Cameron and Alex sucking face on a Monday morning.

"But… I just wanna tell you my good news is all. Y'know Heather Sinclair? You won't believe this but,"

"She's a transvestite with no brain, which explains why she's dating you. Big fucking deal, Lel, Jay told you to go away." Well, here's Alex. And there's Amy behind her, looking a little glassy eyed (3). Have I become a magnet for people without knowing it? I'm going to lunch, and none of them are going to come. No fucking way are they all coming.

I turn around a just leave. I hear someone hit the floor, and a whine from Lel, meaning he probably tried to follow and someone tripped him. Stupid goddamn bastard. Only Towerz can follow me when I just walk away from all of them like that. He's the only one I won't deck for following me when I obviously don't want anyone around.

We leave the building, and I just collapse onto the curb. Towerz noiselessly settles down next to me. "Cigarette." I mumble, and he hands me one. I haven't smoked in ages, but I don't care that it took me a lot of effort to stop. He hands one to me, already lit. I greedily suck in the smoke, and let my eyelids fall shut.

"They'll figure it out." Towerz finally says. I wasn't even expecting him to talk.

"Who?"

"Alex. Amy."

"What makes you so sure?"

"They're girls."

"Hmm."

He's probably right. Girls and gaydar. I don't understand it at all. "What about other girls?"

"They don't know you."

A small relief. Great, so I'll be able to discuss guys with Amy and Alex. How fucking wonderful. Except that Alex doesn't really discuss guys. She just goes after them. Even when I basically handed her over to Cameron, she was interested anyway. If I hadn't, she would've. Amy will go on about guys. When she isn't drunk.

We remain in silence, me absentmindedly smoking, and Towerz just sitting there, doubtlessly deep in thought. He always is.

But someone thuds down next to me, breaking the "peace". I scowl in their direction, "Fuck, Cameron, get lost." I look at him and realize I hate his eyebrows (4). He looks determined to make me listen to whatever he has to say, so I resist the urge to shove him off the curb and storm away, "No, just listen for a moment. I promise it matters more than the shit Lel was babbling about. Then I'll go away." A few minutes pass, but he says nothing, so I sneer at him, "Well? Aren't you going to say it?" He bites his lip, and looks like a three year old who wants nothing more than to run away, "Yes."

"I don't care that you're… uhh, that you don't like girls that way. And I broke up with Alex. I'm going out with Ellie Nash, she's a grade ten. Alex said she sort of misses you, but she's going out with some grade twelve. I think she might know. And that's all I have to say. Good bye." And he did leave. There was a girl waiting by the door for him, but she was inside, so she didn't hear. It's his vampire mistress, Ellie. She could talk to Alex, maybe they could compare notes on what it's like to date a fag. She used to date Marco.

Too many people knew. Know. Towerz, Dylan, Cameron, now Alex. Damn gaydar to hell.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

(1) And what do upside down triangles mean, children? ;P

(2) I forget why I put a note here. I could always go back and change the numbering, but I feel oddly too lazy to do so.

(3) Because she's obviously less than sober. Hmm, that could be my next fic, starring Amy… 'Less Than Sober'.

(4) They are really terrible, aren't they?

(5) Excuse the lack of indentation. I had to upload using Notepad because for some reason Microsoft Word uploads weren't working, and neither were WordPad ones. Boo.


	11. Homes

A/N: Well, readers, it's time for a little self-promotion before writing this chapter. If you enjoy off-beat pairings, I recommend you to read some of my other Degrassi fics, Lighthouse Lost (another JayxDylan), and Café Tombstone (MarcoxTom cringes don't hurt me!). If you like Radio Free Roscoe and odd pairings, then how about reading There's Always a Price to Pay (MC/Ray) or I Didn't Bend the Street Sign (also MC/Ray)?

NOTE: I had to take down Cafe Tombstone (along with the Tom-centric I Think I Love You) due to text problems. If you reviewed these, sorry, but your review got sacrificed so I can edit and fix this problem. I express my deepest apologies to you guys. These will return by the end of the week.

Anyway, that's all there is for my self-promotion. I'm glad so many of you are enjoying this.

Less Than Zero

_By Cradlerobber Speedo-kun_

Why I was eating dinner with Eli and my father after a day like that, I don't know. It didn't improve, either. Lel kept following me around and trying to find out what was wrong with me. I finally slammed him against the lockers and punched him in the face, and then stormed off. He didn't bother me again, but I did hear him whining to Towerz about how unpleasant I was being.

I came home and found that my father was already there, and that Eli wasn't locked in his study for once. Apparently Eli finished up some papers of his that he had been writing for a while, so he ordered Chinese food and looked smugly pleased with himself. My father just looked happy. He doesn't like it very much that Eli is shut up in the study by himself so much.

I felt out of place at the table. Even after living here for so long, I tend to avoid having dinner with them. I can't help but feel I'm intruding on them somehow just by eating food at the same table and the same time as they do. My father's been living with Eli longer than I've been living with my father, afterall...

"I'm glad that you're feeling better finally, Jay." My father says, passing some chicken thing to me. I take it, resisting the urge to stare at the alien food, and put some on my plate, "Yeah."

"It's also good to see your friends, you know. I didn't really know who any of them were before last week. You never had mentioned them."

I shrug. Of course he didn't know any of them, it's not like we're very close. I'm still getting to know him, really...

"They all seem like decent people. I was a little worried that they never came here because you thought I wouldn't approve... Or, well, that you were embarassed about myself and Eli." He looks embarassed to even be saying it, and Eli is avoiding looking at either of us. I feel a little bad, because that's it exactly. I am embarassed about it. But can you really blame me? If people knew that 'gangsta Jay' has a gay father, lives with his gay father and his father's boyfriend... they wouldn't think of me the same way. And, of course, people would think I'm just a spoiled brat playing pretend if they saw what my living conditions are really like.

"Yeah... they're all good guys..." I finally say lamely. I don't know if he's just trying to be nice, given that none of the people who've been around the house lately really give off the impression of being 'good' people. Well... except for Dylan. I don't know if it's that or he genuinely does realize that despite appearances, they are all good people. Because they are. Sure, we steal stuff, smoke, drink, and party, but that isn't what we really are. It's a large part of it, but mainly we just survive together.

"We're glad you joined us for dinner tonight." It was Eli now that spoke. He set down his fork, and folded his hands on the table, a serious look settling on his face in the place of his self-satisfied smile of earlier, "There are two things we have to tell you. First, I would like to legally adopt you. Just in case, well..."

"If anything ever happened to me, I don't want you to have to go back to living with your mother. I know you're sixteen, and it's only a year and a half until you're no longer a minor, but I want to be sure that you don't have to end up back there again." My father finishes for him. I'm not sure that I'd want to live with Eli, but at the same time I don't ever want to go back to live with my mother...

I shrug, "Ok." They look suprised at my almost immediate response. "You don't want to think it over at all?" My father (1) asks. I stare at him steadily, "There's nothing really to think over..."

"Well," He begins with a sigh, "Secondly, Eli and I," at this he takes Eli's hands in his own, something he has never done in front of me before, "are considering getting married. It's legal for us to, and we want to make that commitment to each other. But we want you to be comfortable with it. I know you haven't exactly gotten used to the fact that your father is in a relationship with another man, you're still uncomfortable about it, so I want you to know about this now. We don't plan to get married for a year or so, so you'll have enough time to get used to the idea."

"Oh." What else can I say to something like that? My father is finally re-marrying, and this time it's a guy. What the fuck? I never saw that coming.

After dinner, the rest of which was even more awkward, I retreat to my room to think. I lay on my bed and toss a tennis ball up, catching it when it falls back down, and then repeating the process. (2)

I wonder if my father realizes his son is a fag like him. I wonder if Eli and my father realize _their_ son is a fag like _them_. I'm the son of a 'them'. Not just a 'he', not just a 'she'. A son of more than one person...

A family?

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(1) He's obviously not very close to his father, hence his being so formal and calling him 'father'.

(2) I feel bad. Jay feels generally out of character this entire chapter, and I don't like it, but I don't think I can write it any other way for this chapter. ; ;


End file.
